The Words and the Works

I need some help figuring out what this poem's about. Please tear it up. I don't get poetry.


My fingertips are slow but getting used to it
I hope I make the cut before they judge unfit
The works I've done to what i've become
To be somewhere in the middle of it

And for what I do, I find it hard to find
The words and phrases that give the slightest sign
To the works I give all that I would live
To the efforts I ever defend from Time

There's one sight I'd give it all to see
That hidden Cameras caught, and the person next to me
Was scared away by the things i'd say
To a never ending, infinite entity

You'd never shy from anything that shows
The truth about you that everybody knows
That evey sigh is a pleading cry
For tickets to a train that only goes

I look at your eyes as if we're holding hands
Or as though a blissful plane just barely lands
And now the works I make are yours to take
Not left or lost in the empty sands

Jasper-Opening Scene

This is the play I'm writing. I just wrote the opening scene, and I feel like it's lacking... any ideas?

Lights com on to a bedroom. It has a door center, a bed and a lamp left, and a closet door right. For a moment the room is empty, then KACEY walks in. She's a nondescript teenager with normal build and coloring. She's dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and is carrying a backpack. She leaves her backpack on the ground and jumps onto the bed, giggling.

KACEY: (Looks toward audience as if looking at a mirror.) Well, Kacey, you've done it. Two years you've been out of that madhouse and living normal. Two years and look where you are: Flirting with Carter Brown across the bleachers at the football game. (Sits up and fluffs hair.) He really noticed me, didn't he? (She smiles primps more energetically, still using the audience as a mirror.) Cute basketball stars don't flirt with crazy people, do they? Thank heavens I got out of Cliff's when I did, or he would never have noticed me. (A high, maniacle laugh echos around the room. KACEY looks around, scared. After a moment she continues, slightly shaken.) Like I said, good thing I got out of Cliff's... (Laugh sounds again.)... Institution when I did. So, no need to be imagining him again. Look where it got me the first time! Five years in the "Funny Farm"... (Laugh sounds again. KACEY covers her eyes and rocks back and forth.) ... So don't bring him up... don't remember him... don't remember... (Laugh sounds again, but this time you see who's laughing: a man who enters right. He is dressed in a plumb suit, carries a walking stick, and has an evil grin.) Jasper! (KACEY looks at him.)

JASPER: Hello, Kacey. Miss me?

KACEY: (Crawling backwards on her bed, away from him.) No... no... you can't... you can't be here! (She curls up again and resumes rocking.) You're not real... he's not real... when I open my eyes, he'll be gone! (She opens her eyes, and JASPER grins.)

JASPER: Not real, am I?

KACEY: Why are you here?

JASPER: I missed my favorite haunt. (He steps toward her.) You spent five years getting rid of me, and two years more I've stayed away. I figured I'd been gone long enough. (He inhales as he looks around.) It's good to be back!

KACEY: (Standing up.) I don't want you back! You ruined my life last time. I don't need you here again! (She closes the distance between them.) You don't exist. You're a figment of my imagination. If I say you'll be gone, you'll be gone.

JASPER: (Giving a mocking bow.) As you wish. (He walks out. KACEY collapses onto her bed, looking relieved. The maniacal laughter sounds again, and the lights black.)

Jason 4-revised

I changed a few things, and may make more in the future. But tell me what you think of this last edition.


He stared at her. So she stared at him. He didn’t say anything. So neither did she. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, not taking his eyes off her, not even blinking. The radiator was hissing. The light above the kitchen space buzzed. After a minute, he looked away, scratching the back of his head.
The girl was sitting, clutching her carrion that once was a rabbit-shaped backpack, on the countertop between the stove and fridge. There was an open cupboard just over her as if she had been looking for something when she heard someone kicking at the door.
The big man was now coming towards her. She clutched her rabbit closer and held her breath. He seemed to notice, and with his hands almost raised in surrender, went to the fridge. She watched him pull out a jar, shut the fridge, walk around her to the drawer beside the stove, and select out a spoon. Retreating to the dusty, dark brown kitchen table, he sat down opposite her. She monitored him unscrewing the jar and digging his spoon deep into it. She could smell the peanut butter. Excavating out a mountain of the stuff on his spoon, he stretched his mouth wide and stuffed the whole thing in. She gulped.
Jason looked up at her on her perch; glanced at the time on the oven; looked down at his jar for another scoop; grunted a little as he tried to swallow the creamy, sticky dollop; peered outside at something fascinating through the window. Back at the girl, back at the jar...
She fought it the best she could, but involuntarily, her mouth screwed up to her nose and her eyebrows knit. She hugged her rabbit even tighter, but the growl escaped her stomach, roaring at Jason and his peanut butter. The big man looked up, eyeing her for a moment, and swallowed. Then he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He stood up, scraping the sides for the last of the peanut butter in the jar. He offered the mound to her.
Jason could tell she wanted it; her eyes went large and she licked her lips. But she hesitated before decidedly shaking her head. He was thinking something along the lines of “Monkey see, monkey do,” so he licked off a bit of the peanut butter from the top. Maybe he thought to show her it was alright. He offered it again. The girl could only forebear a few seconds of him nodding, a half smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, before she tentatively took the spoon’s handle and crammed in as much peanut as she could close her mouth around. She returned the spoon and remaining peanut butter and couldn’t help loudly uttering a blissful, “Mmmmmmmnufgh,” as she chewed and swallowed with some difficulty.
He smiled a little as he finished it off.

It was a quarter past midnight and from what little experience Jason had with kids, he knew this was too late for a little girl who looked about six; she couldn’t keep her eyes open just sitting there on the counter.
“So,” Jason said. His big bass voice startled her from her dozing, but he only got a “Nuh,” in reply.
“So... where you sleeping tonight?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but wound up yawning instead.
"I... um... don't..." Her eyes glazed over and—pop!—she slumped over and started snoring on the counter.
This was the problem. Jason didn’t have a bed. He usually just stretched out on the couch, but somehow he found himself scooping up the limp kid and settling her down on the sofa instead. Just great, he thought. Where do I sleep?

It was still dark outside when the little girl’s eyes popped open. She flung the leather jacket off of her. It smelled like peanuts and cigarettes. After only two seconds of shivering and goose bumps rapidly dotting her twiggy arms, she snatched it back and wrapped it around her again, whatever the smell. This house was freezing.
She looked up. There was a fly stuck in the blinds of the window above her. It sounded kind of like a cell phone on vibrate. The girl blew out her cheeks. This was boring. She sat up on the sofa that was more or less blue. Tentatively, she stuck her foot out and reached the grey carpet. How weird! She’d slept with her socks and shoes on! And her day clothes! Funny!
The room she’d woken up in looked like halves of two separate rooms glued to each other. The half she was in was like a living room, while the other looked like a diminutive form of a kitchen that didn’t even have a dish washer! The idea!
Bored again. With the jacket still wrapped around her like a leather cloak, she crept off the couch and to the empty doorway across from her. It opened to a hallway. To the left was distant door ajar, and to the right was closer room and the door was wide open and she could see tile and a toilet—hooray!
It was tiny. The sink, toilet, and shower were crammed together; a person wouldn’t have to even walk to get from one to another. After relieving herself, Jenny tried to balance on the toilet (lid down) while washing her hands. Only, the soap in the bottle was so low, the pump couldn’t reach it, so she unscrewed the top. The pale blue soap was taking forever to ooze down the side so Jenny began hitting the end against her palm. See, the bottle was so gunky with old soap that it slipped from her tiny grip and plunked into the water in the sink, water pouring over it. Jenny tried to pick it back up, except old soap is even slicker when it mixes with water. Eventually, she just stuck her fingers inside the bottle and gleaned what soap she could off the sides. There weren’t any towels, so Jenny just wiped her fingers on her pinafore.
Next order of business: find the rest of the house. Off she scampered, no longer worried about noise. She had warmed up plenty with energizing curiosity, but still towed the jacket behind her like the wake of discovery, and her rabbit tucked resolutely under her arm. She was disappointed, though, when she came to the other end of the short hallway.
The room was a let-down. It had the same grey carpet, same white walls, all of which were bare, and the only furniture was a naked mattress on a metal frame. She climbed onto the bed and the springs groaned underneath her featherweight. She flopped down face up and tried to imagine it with sheets and a pillow. It wasn’t particularly soft and had colorful, questionable stains. She slid off and jumped in front of the shuttered window in the corner of the room. Jenny wormed her fingers in between the blinds and peered through. Below, she could see the parking lot, a few cars, and the alleyway she’d followed the man into. But this little house was high enough that she could see farther. The mountains were blue behind all the advertisement signs. To her right was the hill, where all the rich people lived in their small mansions. On the top, she could see one house looming over the rest, casting a shadow over the entire hill as the sun rose behind it.
“What are you doing in here?”
Jenny whipped around to find the Big Man in the doorway.
“What are you looking at?”
Jenny glanced back at the shadowy mansion. “Nothing,” she whispered.
The Big Man shifted uncomfortably and scratched the side of his face. The doorway looked too narrow for him.

Jason racked his brain. What did you do with kids? He knew people said they were another mouth to feed.
“You probably want breakfast?” The girl nodded.
In the kitchen, while the girl sat patiently at the table, her rabbit resting across her lap, Jason rummaged through cupboards and drawers. Eggs? He thought, Bacon? Toast?
He found leftover takeout, something green and smelling somewhat of eggs, a Salisbury steak TV dinner, and peanut butter. Further investigation of the cupboards produced three more unopened jars of peanut butter, and one-and-a-half boxes of granola bars. No milk, no toast. Oh well.
Luckily, the girl didn’t really notice the lack of eggs or bacon. All she seemed to see is that it was real. She eagerly stuffed her hand into a granola bar box and withdrew three. Jason chose the take out and seated himself across from her. (He did throw the green stuff away).
Somewhere between takeout and peanut butter, Jason stuck out his hand. “Jason. …I think,” He said. The girl only hesitated a moment as she swallowed granola before grabbing his thumb. “Jenny, I think,” she said with a giggle.

Point of View Dilemma...

I began this story, and a ways in I decided to change it from 3rd to 1st person... which do you like better? Here they are:

The ancient armchair sighed as Kate jumped on it before curling up and looking expectantly at her mother. Eleanor Tucker sat herself in her favorite rocker and opened the well-used book Kate had chosen for this night’s bedtime stories. It was one of their favorites, and even though they had read it many times Eleanor did not complain about the choice.

They sat by a roaring fire together in a small parlor next to the library, which Eleanor deemed unsuitable for bedtime stories because she considered it “cavernous.” Kate smiled as her mother began to read; the beginning was her favorite part. “Once upon a time there was a girl. This girl was not a princess, nor was she engaged to a prince. She was an ordinary girl, and that was exactly what everyone called her: Ordinary Jane. But, one not-so-sunny afternoon she became not so ordinary; in fact, she became extraordinary…” And so it was that Eleanor kept reading, even once her daughter had fallen into a doze, her head on the arm of her chair. Only when the clock struck midnight did she finally wake her daughter and send her off to bed.

The next night Kate insisted that her mother go back to where she had left off. “Mu-um!” she whined, in as whiney a voice as a thirteen-year-old can manage, “You weren’t supposed to read ahead anyway! Go back to when Jane hides in the woods.” Eleanor, smiling slightly, flipped back to the part where a mob chases not-so-Ordinary Jane into hiding in the woods. This night Kate did not dose. She sat, enthralled, as the tale of a girl of no special circumstances has to fight for her own survival and for the survival of her world unfolded from the pages of the book. It was a perfectly marvelous evening.

As the clock stuck eleven, however, something happened that halted their story-reading. A crashing sound came from the library, and as though she knew exactly what had just happened Eleanor grabbed her daughter’s arm. She said quickly and urgently, “Run; run to Grandmother Edwards’ home in Medina. It is the big white house on the Main Street. Run now,” and as they heard the men entering the hall she had screamed, “Run now!!”

So Kate ran; she ran down the hall, faster as she heard the men yelling after her. She dashed around a corner and ducked behind a tapestry where a secret passage lay. Before she ran through the roughly carved hidden passage she paused to lean around the corner and watch. What she saw drove her to tears. There was a legion of men in black and red capes. They all ad black cloth obscuring their faces, and most of them carried knives. Two men of the in black capes were holding her twisting and writhing mother, one holding each wrist. As she watched, a man in a red cape came up behind Eleanor and put a knife to her throat. The man whispered something that Kate couldn’t hear. Whatever it was must have been convincing, for her mother stopped struggling and went meekly along with them. When Eleanor’s captors cleared the hallway Kate saw clearly tongues of flame leaping up the hallway. Tears clouded her eyes as she turned and ran up the roughly-carved tunnel. She knew the fire had been started using her books as kindling.

Rain started falling on Kate’s face as she ran from the burning home behind her. Once she reached the cool security of the trees she turned and looked at her home. The flames were now reaching the upper levels. As she watched glass windows shattered from the heat and her tower bedroom, until now untouched, went up in flames like a torch. As she grasped the full severity of the situation tears began to join the raindrops on her cheeks. Everything she had ever known was being destroyed before her eyes. Her home, her safety, her mother— Before she knew what she was doing she had collapsed onto the sodden grass and was sobbing uncontrollably. It took a few minutes of uninterrupted weeping before she was able to think straight enough to comprehend her mother’s instructions: “Run; run to Grandmother Edwards’ home in Medina. It is the big white house on the Main Street. Run now… run now!!” Kate stood even as she continued to sob. Run, she thought, run. Knowing she had somewhere to go gave her comfort, even if she had never met this said grandmother. She knew Grandmother Edwards and her mother didn’t get along, but since I have no other choice, Kate thought as she began running toward Medina, I hope she doesn’t hold that against me.

The morning dawned as a warm yellow sun rested upon the rain-soaked figure lying on the side of the road. Kate had run until she could no more, then had walked until she collapsed around four in the morning. Now the late winter sun was just rising hours later. Panicked at her loss of time Kate set off at once, now keeping to the trees that lined to road.

Even though she was drained and frightened she couldn’t help but notice the variety of people that were traveling this road between Napier and Medina. There were many, many normal people that were merely going from one place to the other, but there were also litters of the rich being carried by servants, caravans of merchants selling foreign spices and cloth to fellow travelers, and even a hooded man on a camel. When she saw this one Kate couldn’t help but wonder how an animal from such a warm dry climate could survive the wet and cold winters of small, but northern-set, Saskia.

For most of the journey Kate kept to the trees, although at times the trees thinned out or disappeared completely. When this happened she had to walk on the roads, feeling very self-conscious of her thin white nightgown brushing her ankles, mussed hair, and delicate slippers. And, when she thought about it, she must have a great deal of dirt and ash on her as well. No wonder people are avoiding my eyes, she thought, watching a man with a large pack glance at her and hurry away.

It was nearing lunchtime when finally, hungry and exhausted, Kate reached Medina. It was large and brimming with people. The Main Street was easily recognizable: it was by far the widest and the busiest. Right in the middle of town were some high-end houses, and only one was white. Kate, knowing she must look a mess, marched up to the front door and boldly rang the bell, feeling very brave. As soon as the door was opened, however, she cowered back, feeling quite small again. The tallest and most abhorrent-looking lady Kate had ever laid eyes on opened the door. She had a large beak of a nose and small suspicious eyes under extremely bushy eyebrows. Her black hair was pulled back in a bun and her plain dress was iron grey. Kate was reminded of a vulture staring down from a high branch in a dead tree. “Yes?” the lady said in a low, sharp voice.

Kate gulped. “I’m Kate. I’ve come to see Mrs. Edwards.”

The bird-woman sniffed haughtily and said in a demeaning tone, “The duchess,” she put special emphasis on the word as if to point out the ignorance of calling a duchess “Mrs.”, “does not have time for badly-dressed commonfolk like yourself. Go grovel somewhere else, vagrant.” The door swung shut, but before it did, Kate distinctly heard the woman mutter the word, “Disgusting.” (The woman’s name is Cholena, which means Bird, although I do not think she will be important.)

Kate, discouraged and offended, turned and ambled down the steps. Now what? Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized that she would have to clean up and, if she could, change before she attempted again to see her grandmother. But the thought of trying to find food and clothing in the largeness of Medina worried her. Feeling like this was going to be harder than she had anticipated, Kate began to wander the streets. Occasionally she would stop and sit on doorsteps or patches of grass to think and rest. During one such time the owner of the step she was sitting on came out with some bread and water, but would not involve herself any more. Wanderers and beggars were looked down upon in Saskian society, especially in the large cities. The rich believed that if they could earn money then the beggar could too. That was what Kate had believed until last night, but now…

It was night before Kate realized she was hungry again. She had spent the day roaming and searching, and now the streets were dark; the lamps that were lit on the corners did nothing for the shadowy stretches in-between. Kate began to feel anxious as the city seemed to empty around her. Soon she was alone on a dark avenue in the second largest city in all of Saskia.

Alone…alone… only now did she feel the true meaning of the word. Once her mother had gone calling and left her at home with the cook, amid, and gardener. After hours of reading by herself in the library Kate heard the familiar clicking of her mother’s boots in the hall. Springing to her feet she ran and embraced her mother, crying, “Don’t ever leave me alone again!”

Now Kate realized that that was boredom, not true loneliness. As she wandered the dark deserted streets, shivering and famished, she would have given anything to be bored again.

Kate fell asleep in the gutter. She woke up to an odd shuffling noise in the earliest hours of the morning. Starting, she looked around and saw a circle of men closing in around her. Kate was immediately seized by a jolt of fear, but these were not the men in red and black capes. These men had no such finery. They wore dirty, ripped trousers and many had no shirts. Their teeth were rotted and their eyes were wild. They stank of putrid cabbage.

Without a second thought Kate began to run. She burst between two men, and before they realized what had happened she had disappeared around the corner.

She heard shouts and attempted pursuit behind her, but she was so frightened and the men so worn that Kate was soon out of sight. However she didn’t stop running. In a panic she ran clear out of town and into the nearby wood. As soon as she entered the trees a cool only the forest can create fell around her, and she shivered. The sounds of hoot owls and crickets assaulted her eardrums. Wondering what she got herself into she pressed on. Tree branches stuck to her hair and clothing. Not so long after she entered the wood she came upon a creek. Feeling glad she could finally get away from the scratching brambles she hopped in and began to walk. Despite the fact the stream was only a few inches deep her shoes were instantly soaked. Disregarding this, Kate continued on until she found an open bank to sit on. As soon as she sat exhaustion caught up with her, and for the second time in two days she fainted into sleep.

Chapter One Revised

The ancient armchair sighed as I jumped onto it before curling into a ball and looking expectantly at Mother. She smiled at me and sat herself down in her favorite rocker and opened my favorite book, now well worn from so much use.

We sat together by the roaring fire in the parlor next to the library, which Mother had deemed too “cavernous” for cozy bedtime stories. As Mother began I smiled and listened intently; the beginning was my favorite part. “Once upon a time,” she read, “there was a girl. This girl was not a princess, nor was she engaged to a prince. She was an ordinary girl, and that was exactly what everyone called her: Ordinary Jane. But, one not-so-sunny afternoon she became not-so-ordinary; in fact, she became extraordinary…” I soon dozed off, my head on the arm of the chair. When Mother woke me up at midnight to take me off to bed I saw she was significantly farther into it than she had been when I had fallen asleep.

The next night I insisted she went back to where I left off. “Mu-um!” I whined, or tried to, because once you pass a certain age you lose the ability to whine, “You weren’t even supposed to read ahead anyway! Go back to the part where Jane hides in the woods.” Mother, smiling slightly, flipped many pages back to read about when a mob chased not-so-Ordinary Jane into hiding in the woods. This time I stayed awake and alert, enthralled at the tale of a girl of no special circumstances having to fight for her own survival and the survival of her world as it unfolded from the pages of the book.

As the clock struck eleven something happened that halted our story reading. A crashing sound came from the library, and as though she knew exactly what had happened Mother grabbed my arm and whispered urgently in my ear, “Run; run to Grandmother Edwards’ home in Medina. It is the big white house on the main street. Run now,” we heard men entering the hall, and she screamed, “Run now!”

So I ran; I ran down the hall, faster as I heard men yelling after me. I dashed around a corner and ducked behind a tapestry that concealed a secret tunnel. I had often hidden there for hide-and-seek games as a young child, and found it more cramped than I remembered it. I knew I should run, but curiosity overwhelmed me, and I poked my head out from behind and around the corner to watch. I had to stifle a sob as I saw strangers in red and black capes with black cloth obscuring their faces filling the hall. There were dozens of them! As I watched, two men in black came out of the parlor with my mother, one holding each wrist. A man in a red cape came up to her and put a knife to her throat as he whispered something in her ear that I couldn’t hear. I noticed the red man was not the only one with a knife. Whatever he said must have been convincing, because Mother stopped struggling and went meekly along with them. When her captors had cleared the hallway I had a perfect view of the wicked tongues of flame leaping from our library into the hall. I began to cry as I turned and ran up the passage. I had no doubt those men had started the fire using our books as kindling.

The fire spread faster than I could run. By the time I reached the tunnel exit I was choking on smoke. The rain that fell outside felt refreshing after the stifling heat. I ran nonstop until I reached the cool security of our border of trees. Once there I felt safe enough to stop and rest. After a few rejuvenating gulps of air I turned to watch my home burn. The flames were now reaching the upper levels. As I watched the glass windows shattered from the heat and my tower bedroom, so far untouched, went up like a torch. It was only then I grasped the full severity of the situation; only then did I realize I was homeless and alone with a band of men that might be looking for me. Before I knew it I was on the ground sobbing hopelessly. After a few minutes of uninterrupted weeping I felt my mind clear and I remembered my mother’s instructions: Run to Grandmother Edwards’ home in Medina. Even as I continued to cry I stood and stumbled toward the gates. Knowing I had somewhere to go gave me comfort, even though I had never met this said grandmother. All I knew was my mother didn’t get along well with Grandmother Edwards, but since I didn’t have a choice, I could only hope she didn’t hold that against me.

The morning dawned as a warm yellow sun rested upon my cold, rain-soaked body as I slept in the gutter next to the road. After leaving my home, I had run until I could run no more, and then walked until I collapsed in my current position around four in the morning. Now I could see the late morning sun rising in the east sky. Panicked at the loss of time I scrambled at my feet and set off at a quick walk, now keeping to the trees to avoid prying eyes.

Even in my drained and frightened state, I was fascinated by the variety of people traveling on the road between Napier and Medina. There were many, many normal people that were merely going from one place to another, but there were also litters of the rich being carried by servants, caravans of merchants selling foreign spices and cloth to fellow travelers, and even a hooded man on a camel. When I saw this one I couldn’t help but wonder how an animal from such a warm, dry climate could survive the wet and cold winters of small, northern-set Saskia.

For most of the journey I kept to the trees, although at times the trees thinned out or disappeared completely. When this happened I had to walk on the road. I felt self-conscious and horribly exposed in my ankle-length, thin, white nightgown, mussed hair and delicate slippers. Not to mention I was covered in ash and dirt. I tried not to attract attention, but I did anyway. One man came up next to me, and when he glanced my way he quickly averted his eyes and sped up, away from me.

It was nearly lunchtime when finally, hungry and exhausted, I reached Medina. It was larger than my small hometown of Napier, and brimming with people. The main street was easily recognizable; it was by far the widest and the busiest. Right in he middle of town were some high-end homes, and only one was white. It towered above the rest, with two black gargoyles perched over the doorway like a sentry. I marched right up to it, despite knowing that I looked like a homeless person with no sense of hygiene. I ran up the front steps two at a time, feeling very brave, and rang the bell. As soon as the door opened, however, I cowered back, feeling quite small again. The tallest and most abhorrent-looking lady I had ever laid eyes on opened the door. She had a large beak of a nose and small suspicious eyes under extremely bushy eyebrows. Her black hair was sleeked back into a bun and her plain dress was iron grey. I couldn’t help being reminded of a vulture staring down from a high branch on a dead tree as she looked down at me. “Yes?” she said in low, sharp voice.

I gulped. “I’m Kate—Kathrine Tucker. My mother is Elinor Tucker. I’m here to see Mrs. Edwards. She’s my grandmother,” I added quickly, trying to press my case.

The bird-woman sniffed haughtily and said in a demeaning tone, “The duchess,” she put special emphasis on the word as if to point out my ignorance in calling a duchess “Missus”, “Does not have time for badly-dressed commonfolk like yourself. Go grovel somewhere else, vagrant.” The door began to swing closed but, in a last desperate attempt, I grabbed her arm before it disappeared behind the black wood.

“Please!” I nearly screamed, “Please, she’s my grandmother! She can find it in her heart to help her own granddaughter, can’t she?” I could tell from the woman’s face she didn’t believe me.

“Her ladyship doesn’t have any children,” she said. This time she succeeded in slamming the door, but not before I heard her mutter the word, “Disgusting.”

I turned around and ambled down the steps, feeling discouraged and, frankly, offended. One night of agony and homelessness was not enough to label me a “vagrant.” I sighed and sat on the bottommost of my grandmother’s high-and-mighty steps. Now what? My one place of safety had been denied me, and I knew it wouldn’t be smart to try again until I cleaned up. But the thought of trying to find food and clothing in the largeness of Medina frightened me, not to mention that I had not a penny to my name. Feeling like this was going to be harder than I anticipated, I stood up and began to hopelessly wander the streets. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, maybe a kind soul with food or housing for me. Once when I stopped to rest on a doorstep and the owner of the house brought out food and water for me. After she shoved it into my hand I turned to thank her and maybe ask her for advice, but she had shut the door with a sharp click before a sound came out of my mouth. I devoured the bread and drained the cup in minutes. Once it was gone I wished for more, but I stood and walked away, leaving the cup on the step, hoping that she could sense my gratitude.

No one else really paid attention to me. The beggars and the homeless were looked down upon in Saskian society; they were thought to be pathetic, lazy, and unclean. I had thought that, too, until that day. I then realized that most beggars and homeless were just unlucky, and looked lazy because they were always hungry. As for unclean… I couldn’t help but smile as I caught a look at myself in a still puddle by the street. My shoulder-length auburn hair was matted, dirty, and falling out of the ribbon. My face was covered in dirt and soot, just like I had predicted, but it also looked sad, pinched, and desperate. My smile looked fake, and I quickly put on a face worthy of a funeral. That seemed to fit more. I tried to comb through my hair and replaced the ribbon. I washed my face, but my clothing was still a problem. A dirty nightdress surely drew unwanted attention. But, I couldn’t do anything about it, so I tried as hard as I could to avoid people’s eyes as I walked down the quickly darkening street.

It was night before I realized I was hungry again. But, now that it was night there would be no friendly doors opened to me. Dark things happened at night, especially in big cities; I had been told stories about kidnappers and murderers wandering the streets, looking for children out after dark. Mostly these were told to discourage willful children from running away at night, but I couldn’t help remembering the stories as the lamps were lit and daylight disappeared completely. The lamps’ light was limited, and as I settled down to rest in the ally by a well-lit building I was not afraid. I was terrified.

Alone…alone… only now did I feel the true meaning of the word. Once Mother had gone away for a day, leaving me home with the cook. After hours of reading by myself in the library, I had heard the familiar click of Mother’s boots in the hallway. My first words as I hugged her tight were, “Never leave me alone again!”

Now I realized that had been boredom, not true loneliness. As I wandered the deserted streets, shivering and famished, I would have done anything to be bored again.

I woke in the middle of the night to an odd shuffling noise around me. My stiff body was complaining because of my position on the hard earth, but any discomfort was quickly forgotten as I saw what had woken me. A circle of men was closing in around me. I felt a moment of panic before I realized these were not men in red and black capes. These men had no such finery. They wore dirty, ripped trousers and many had no shirts. Their teeth were rotted and their eyes were wild. They stank of putrid cabbage.

Without a second thought I trusted my instinct and began to run. I burst between two men, and before they realized what had happened I had turned a corner and disappeared.

I heard shouts and attempted pursuit behind me, but I was so frightened and the men so worn that I soon couldn’t hear them anymore. In my panic, I didn’t stop running. I ran clear out of town and into a nearby wood. As soon as I entered the trees a cool only the forest could create fell around me, and I shivered. The sounds of hoot owls and crickets assaulted my eardrums. As I pressed on tree branches stuck to my hair and clothing, and I wondered what I had gotten myself into.

It wasn’t long before I came upon a creek. Even though the water felt like ice to my ankle, it was a relief to get away from the branches and brambles. I walked in the middle of the stream, soaking my thin shoes completely through. I continued on for a few minutes until the trees opened up to a sandy bank. Exhaustion, driven away by adrenaline, caught up with me as soon as I stopped and sat down, and for the second time in two days I fainted into sleep.

Book in 30 Days

I got a new book...called "A Book in 30 Days" that teaches to do exactly what it title says. I have found it to be a very good way of doing things...you won't be reading my story for a long time, though. Also, I may be posting my progress!

The Archives of Ultimate Writing Knowledge

It started with the realization that I'm not as good at writing as I'd like to be. It ended with the finding of The Archives of Ultimate Writing Knowledge, otherwise known as Writing Excuses. It is a writing podcast by three LDS authors. My favorite of the group is Brandon Sanderson, author of Alcatraz vs. the Evil Librarians, The Mistborn Trilogy, and Elantris. He's EXTREMELY talented. If you don't believe me, ask Peter or John. My second favorite is Dan Howard, author of I Am Not a Serial Killer. My third favorite is....uh....forgot his name. He's author of the web-comic, Schlock Mercenary.

The podcast has been going for two years now and covers just about every writing topic under the sun. It's informative, fun, and free. You can get it from itunes, or you can Google it and listen to it for free on their website. It's worth it. Oh, by the way, each podcast is only fifteen minutes.

To make it less difficult for you, here's a link: http://www.writingexcuses.com/

"I had a monumental idea this morning, but I didn't like it."

-Samuel Goldwyn

It was still dark outside when the little girl’s eyes popped open. She flung the leather jacket off of her. It smelled like peanuts and cigarettes. After only two seconds of shivering and goose bumps rapidly dotting her twiggy arms, she snatched it back and wrapped it around her again, whatever the smell. This house was freezing.
She looked up. There was a fly stuck in the blinds of the window above her. It sounded kind of like a cell phone on vibrate. The girl blew out her cheeks. This was boring. She sat up on the sofa that was more or less blue. The carpet was grey. Tentatively, she stuck her foot out and reached it to the floor. How weird! She’d slept with her socks and shoes on! And her day clothes! Funny!
The room she’d woken up in looked like halves of two separate rooms glued to each other. The half she was in was like a living room, while the other looked like a diminutive form of a kitchen that didn’t even have a dish washer! The idea!
Bored again. With the jacket still wrapped around her like a leather blanket, she crept off the couch and to the empty doorway that was h. She went through. To the left was a hallway, and the right was a door. She’d thought she’d try the door first. She turned the tarnished handle and—hooray!—a bathroom. It was tiny. The sink, toilet, and shower were crammed together; a person wouldn’t have to even walk to get from one to another. But right now, that did not matter. She was just relieved to find the bathroom first.
Next order of business: find the rest of the house. Off she scampered, no longer worried about noise. She had warmed up plenty with energizing curiosity, but still towed the jacket like the wake of discovery. She was disappointed, though, when she came to the end of the short hallway.
It was another door, which in of itself was promising enough, but the room behind it was a let-down. Same grey carpet, same white walls, all of which were bare, and the only furniture was a cross between a bed and couch. It was a table with one drawer beside it. The bed/couch had a bare mattress and no pillow. Dull.
The hallway went nowhere else, so she went back to the kitchen/living room hybrid. In one of the walls of the living room half, next to the sofa she’d slept on was a door she’d overlooked. It was only an empty closet. Bored again.
Then, before her, was the most incredible contraption. A little box with two wires coming out of the top was sitting on a table like the one in the bedroom she‘d found. The box had a screen, and definitely looked like a TV, but it was far too thick and not long enough. She sot out the remote and discovered it sitting on top of the TV-like box. She was experienced enough to turn it on—she could tell because the little red light came on—but she couldn’t find the channel buttons on the remote. So she turned it off.
The broken TV made a blip noise that was louder than she expected. A snort came from the direction of the kitchen. She turned around, her eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and terrible fear. It was the big man from last night. She remembered him giving her that hotdog and the peanut butter.

Jason woke up to two little fingers poking his nose. His eyes flickered open and followed the fingers till he saw those enormous green eyes. Surprised, he yelped and reeled back in the kitchen chair he fell asleep in last night. He crashed to the floor and the girl flew off. She dashed to the couch and clutched the ugly rabbit she’d abandoned there earlier.
Grumbling, Jason got up and righted the chair.
“I…er…sorry, I just…” he mumbled, “You got up early…” Jason added, noticing the timer on the oven read six-forty-five. “Really early.”
There was a pause. Unable to take it anymore, the little girl finally blurted, “I’m hungry.”
Jason perked at this. At first he thought, She can talk, and then, Breakfast. What do kids like for breakfast? He found leftover takeout, something green and smelling of eggs, a Salisbury steak TV dinner, and peanut butter. Further investigation of the cupboards produced three more unopened jars of peanut butter, one-and-a-half boxes of granola bars, and, by some miracle, an unopened box of plain cornflake cereal. No milk. Oh well.
The little girl didn’t seem to notice the scanty, slap-dash manner of the meal, only that it was real. Her tiny hand reached for the cereal, but Jason, as a last-minute decision, withheld. He had to do something the only way he knew how,
“You want me to give you some corn flanks?” he asked.
The girl frantically nodded.
He said, “Then you need to do something for me.”
Her eyes grew even larger, which Jason took to mean she was listening. “I need you to answer one question for me, and then you can have some breakfast. Ok?” The girl nodded.
“Alright. What’s your name?”
She swallowed before answering in a small but clear voice, “Jenny.”
Jason smiled with success. “Ok, Jenny,” he replied while retrieving a bowl and spoon, “have some cereal.”
Jenny and Jason dug in heartily to a breakfast of plain cornflakes and granola bars and washing it down with a spoonful of peanut butter each.